


Permanent

by angerwasallihad



Series: Learning to Love [6]
Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Flashbacks, Gen, Mother!ship, return to sender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3120098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angerwasallihad/pseuds/angerwasallihad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The fear that had boiled in her stomach that day had now taken up residence in her insides.  It was fear different than the occasional nervousness that visited her at a crime scene or when she herself was in danger. This was a fear that took hold of her very being and squeezed until she could no longer breathe. It was the tell-tale sign of her love, of her unwillingness to let him go. Of his constancy in her life, and the realization of what her fear during those few hours that Rusty had been missing actually meant: that he was permanent."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permanent

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Most distinctly not mine. Not even a little bit.
> 
> Well here we are. The final installment of the Mothership revisited. You will probably notice that the form is a little different than the previous pieces. Basically, it’s straight Mothership. I couldn’t resist. This first bit is for Rosabelle, because she asked so nicely for a little “Final Cut” shenanigans.

This was a terrible idea. 

 

Sharon watched helplessly as Lieutenant Cooper started to strap Rusty into the vest. Everything inside her was screaming in protest. How Lieutenant Provenza could have suggested this was beyond her. She closed her eyes for a split second, blocking out the rush of images in her mind. 

 

_Rusty, pulling his shirt off to reveal his scratched and bloody torso to herself and Brenda._

 

_Blood pooling on the floor beneath his leg as he resisted the paramedics’ attempts to lift him onto a stretcher._

 

_The heartbreak on his face when his mother had failed to appear._

 

_His face bruised and bloodied after Rusty’s father had finished with him._

 

_The letters, spread out before her in a nightmarish image of failure._

 

She sighed and attempted to pull herself together internally as Lieutenant Cooper spoke. 

 

“Now, what is the most important thing you have to do?”

 

Sharon watched him intently, fighting to betray any trace of the fear boiling in her stomach. 

 

“Stick with the plan.” Lieutenant Cooper was fastening the vest over Rusty’s chest now, a little unnecessarily rough and tightly in Sharon’s opinion. 

 

“Where are you going today and every day?”

 

Rusty’s eyes finally flicked up to meet Sharon’s as he spoke. “To the park to play chess.” Sharoncould see a fraction of her own fear reflected in his eyes. She nodded at his words and made a vain attempt to arrange her face into a reassuring expression, an attempt she failed spectacularly. 

 

“Good.” Sharon looked away from Rusty, down at his chest as Lieutenant Cooper finished strapping him in. “Now remember, you will be covered the minute you leave the garage downstairs. Just don’t try to figure out how or by whom.” Sharon looked him over as the Lieutenant tugged and jostled the vest into place, trying not to think about what sort of incident might necessitate the need for such a vest. Her gaze fell deliberately to the floor as she pushed the thought away.

 

“I will act like a zombie.” Sharon’s eyes snapped back to Rusty at those words. His back was to her now, and his usual sarcastic humor fell flat. The nerves and fear in his voice told the real story, at least to her. He couldn’t hide things from Sharon. Not anymore. 

 

“Now,” Cooper continued, turning Rusty back to face them, “you stay in the pre-arranged safe zone, and you signal distress or threat by—“

 

“By rubbing the back of my head three times with my left hand,” Rusty finished, demonstrating the action. Sharon was still terrified. Nothing could change that. But seeing him so prepared for every eventuality and taking this so seriously instilled no small amount of pride in her gaze now. 

 

“Right.” The lieutenant turned behind him and took up Rusty’s shirt, beginning to button it over the vest. “You just graduated from Jump Street to Number One. You do everything exactly as I tell you, and we will catch this son of a bitch who’s been threatening you.”

 

“Okay.” 

 

With a small feeling of panic, Sharon realized that they were now on the verge of sending him out the door. And she needed a moment with him. They both did. She wasn’t ready. It was too fast. She cast around for something she could control, something to keep her grounded. She pointed at Rusty’s shirt. “I can finish that.” She looked meaningfully at Lieutenant Cooper, a finality in her tone and gaze that made it clear he was excused. 

 

Cooper walked away, saying something about a radio check, leaving Sharon and Rusty alone for a moment. 

 

Sharon watched to make sure they were well and truly gone before attacking Rusty’s front with her hands. “Is this too tight?” She unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the vest again. Rusty had a pained, uncomfortable look on his face that Sharon knew was mostly due to nerves, but she had an intense need to bring this uncontrollable situation back into some semblance of order. And getting the vest settled would fit the bill. 

 

“You know what, yeah. Yeah. Maybe just a little. I kinda…can’t feel my fingers.” 

 

Sharon nodded and quickly ripped open the velcro and adjusted the vest more comfortably. She could feel Rusty vibrating beneath her hands with nervous energy. She kept her own fear and nerves under control as she finished. “Now,” she said, adjusting his shirt over the vest and bringing her hands up on either side of his shoulders, “relax your shoulders.” She pulled the shirt down and closed to hide the vest. “Breathe.” They took a deep breath in unison. She looked at him hard for a moment, deciding whether he needed light humor or calm reassurance in that moment. She chose the latter. “You know,” she said calmly, beginning to button up his shirt, “being a little nervous is a good sign.” She brought her eyes back to his face. “It means you’re taking this seriously, which,” finishing, Sharon brought her hands back up to his shoulders, “I really appreciate.” She watched him intently for a moment, and she felt her mask slip and reveal her consuming worry for a split second. She turned away, pulling herself back together. 

 

“Here is your jacket.” She held it out, deliberately not looking at him and changing abruptly back to her usual matter-of-fact tone. She turned back to the counter. “And your chess pieces are inside your backpack.” She picked up the lunch she had packed for him a few minutes earlier, placing it inside the backpack and turning towards him to hand it over. “And your lunch.” Rusty reached out to take the bag from her, but she didn’t let go. “And your pepper spray,” she whispered, reminding him with a look that the pepper spray in his bag was non-negotiable. It just made her feel better knowing that he had it just in case. She let go of the bag, but didn’t miss his exasperated look.

 

Buzz and the lieutenant were back, and suddenly they were all moving toward the door. And Rusty was gone. Sharon stood in the doorway as the lieutenant attempted to calm her with empty words and vague assurances. Had he just said probably? _Probably._ She resisted the urge to remind him just how absolutely unhelpful his words were with her usual non-negotiable tone, and returned to the apartment to gather her things.

 

She shut the door and leaned against it, taking a steadying breath.

 

Her heart was pounding, more images of Rusty flashing through her mind unbidden. 

 

_Rusty, restrained by a faceless stranger._

 

_Rusty, falling to the ground as gunshots rent the air, blood pooling beneath his lifeless body._

 

_Rusty, kicking and scratching, struggling to breathe with muffled screams through the pillow held over his face._

 

_Or worse yet—he was just gone, leaving behind nothing but a crushed wire pack and a sickening smear of blood on the pavement._

 

Sharon’s eyes snapped open. She had to stop this. It was out of her hands now. She glanced around the apartment, slipping on her coat and swinging her bag over her shoulder and turning to leave. When had this happened? When had she thrown her trademark emotional distance out the window only to replace it with, well, love? When had Rusty, with his cutting remarks and emotional mess, wormed his way into her life for good? She closed the door behind her with a snap and headed down the hallway toward the elevator, retracing Rusty’s steps from just moments ago. She stopped before the elevator and pressed the down button, still mostly lost in thought. Had she known from the start that things would end up this way? 

 

_“Brenda’s been asking what you’re planning to do with Rusty.”_

 

_Sharon took the foil-wrapped snack from Fritz and slipped it into the worn pack on her desk. Fritz looked at her, surprised. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll make do,” she said. “For now, anyway.” She folded up Rusty’s file again and placed it in her bag, bringing it up to join Rusty’s backpack and duffel on her desk. “Give Chief Johnson my best—or well, whatever might be interpreted as a friendly gesture.” Sharon felt a little awkward saying it. She was never quite sure where she stood with that woman, particularly in the wake of these new developments._

 

_Fritz’s eyes twinkled. “I will,” he said as he strode towards the door with his paper bag of goodies in hand. “And—“ he turned back to her at the door. “Good luck.” He looked meaningfully at the ragged backpack on her desk. “With everything.” He gestured around the office. “I’ll be seeing you,” he finally said and walked out._

 

_Sharon sighed. Good luck indeed. She swung the pack over her shoulder and carried Rusty’s duffel and her own purse in her other hand and made her way smoothly over to Rusty in the Murder Room. “Alright, Rusty,” she said, stopping in front of him. “You’re with me.”_

 

_Rusty looked up at her warily. “Look, I told you, lady. I am not going back to that house. So save your breath.” He made no move to get up._

 

_Sharon looked down at him and resisted the urge to roll her eyes with difficulty. “Well then it’s a good thing I’m not taking you there.” She snapped her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. “Come on, let’s go.” He didn’t look at her. “This is not a negotiation,” she said louder. “Either you come with me right now, or the officers over there can make you very comfortable someplace far less accommodating than DCFS has arranged for you.” She gestured at the uniforms in the corner._

 

_Rusty looked up at her defiantly, his gaze challenging. Sharon stared back at him cooly. Finally he looked away. “Fine,” he huffed. “But give me my backpack back.” He reached out and snatched it off her shoulders, swinging it over his own shoulder and getting to his feet with the help of his crutches. “But don’t think for a second that this means I won’t be back here in the morning and every day after that until you find my mother.”_

 

_They walked slowly to the elevator. Sharon smirked. “Oh I don’t think that will be a problem.”_

 

_The drive was short and mostly uneventful until Sharon pulled into the garage below her building and parked._

 

_“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I thought you were taking me somewhere to stay. What the hell is this?” He made no move to get out of the car._

 

_“I am,” she said calmly. “You’re staying with me.”_

 

_Rusty looked at her in disgust. “Um, no. I’m not.” He crossed his arms over his chest and slid down in his seat a little, making it clear he had no intention of moving._

 

_Sharon turned off the car and sighed. This was precisely why she had been so vague on their destination. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she began lightly, “was I unclear before? Should I take you back to the station so we can arrange for a more secure living situation for you? Perhaps one with locks on the doors and bars on the windows?” Rusty looked over at her and huffed, but unbuckled and reached behind him for his crutches. Sharon smirked and popped the trunk. Rusty was still holding tightly to his backpack, so she carried his duffel and her own things up in the elevator with them._

 

_She was mildly concerned about him hobbling around on those crutches, so the moment she opened the door, she said kindly, “You can stay in the spare bedroom in the back while you’re here. Why don’t you go sit over on the couch somewhere so we can talk before we get you settled?” Rusty gave her a look that clearly communicated how unhappy he was with this situation, but sat down anyway. Sharon sighed heavily. Second day on the job, and she was already bringing her work home with her. This was certainly going to be the change that she had begged for._ Careful what you wish for, _she thought ruefully. She needed a glass of wine._

 

_“Don’t think that I’m going to be all, like, thankful for you taking me in.”_

 

_Rusty’s voice floated over to her in the kitchen as she poured a glass of white wine. Sharon smiled to herself at his words. No, such an assumption would have been optimistic to the point of foolishness. “Oh trust me,” she called back to him, “you’re not the first adolescent to grace my home with your presence. Having raised two teenagers of my own, I have tremendous capacity for ingratitude.” She left the bottle out on the counter. She could already sense that tonight would not be a one-glass evening. She brought her glass with her as she made her way over to Rusty on the couch, attempting to lighten the mood a little with her next words. “Rusty, it’s so funny,” she leaned over the back of the couch as she spoke, “just when you get good at being a mother, you’re fired.” She looked at him expectantly, amusement dancing in her eyes._

 

_“Or you quit,” Rusty shrugged, blackening the mood again._

 

_Sharon’s heart stopped and her face fell. Of course. That was the worst thing she could have said to him. She could have kicked herself._

 

_Rusty turned away from her now and placed the half-opened ding-dong on the table in front of him, a clear rejection of her olive branch. Sharon slumped, looking down at her feet for a moment as she regrouped. He was such a good kid, really. He’d just been dealt a hand that made him distrustful and angry about everything. If only she could change that. She stood up straight again, considering another approach. She couldn’t shake the feeling that if she could just come up with a way to break through his hard exterior, there might be something more underneath._

 

_“So…” Rusty’s voice cut through her thoughts, “What are we supposed to call each other anyway?”_

 

_Sharon snatched at the new opportunity to break the ice a little. “Well,” she said, making her way around the couch to sit in a chair an appropriate distance away. “I think,” she continued, taking another stab at humor, “you should call me… Captain Raydor.” She looked over her wine glass at him, maintaining her serious look. If she could just get him to crack a smile. But no such luck._

 

_“Okay,” he said dubiously, “then you can call me Mr. Beck.”_

 

_Sharon suppressed a chuckle, but kept her serious tone, a little indignant. “You are the child in this relationship—“_

 

_“No, I am the witness,” Rusty interrupted, looking straight at her, completely serious. “If you are the police officer, then I am the witness.”_

 

_Sharon smiled a little, finally dropping her lame attempt at ambiguous humor. Yes, she knew that people often didn’t get her odd sense of humor right of the bat, but still. It had been worth a try. “There are not a lot of people around here who call me by my first name,” she said lightly, still smiling over at him, amused._

 

_Clearly, Rusty did not share her amusement. “Oh, well maybe that’s why you live alone with a spare bedroom.”_

 

_Sharon tilted her head slightly, and her smile grew fixed. There was something about having a teenager with no filter around the house again that would take some getting used to. She had spent the last twenty-eight years getting used to the openly hateful attitudes, the hush that fell over a room when she entered it, the suspicion with which everyone regarded her. But she had forgotten about the blatant cutting remarks that only a teenager used in the four years since she’d had one in the house._

 

_“I live alone,” she said quietly, “because my children are grown. The spare room is for when they visit.”Rusty had turned away from her, a mildly guilty expression on his face at her serious tone. “But,” Sharon smiled genuinely at him again, speaking more normally now, “you may call me Sharon. How’s that?” She looked at him expectantly._

 

_Rusty blinked at her slowly. “Sharon.”_

 

_She nodded at him, still smiling kindly._

 

_“What is that, your bad idea of a joke or something?”_

 

_Sharon’s smile slipped off her face and she eyed him with confusion now. “Why do you say that?” she asked seriously._

 

_“Sharon is my mother’s name,” Rusty said in a tone one might use to explain that two and two made four._

 

_Sharon felt her face fall again, and she slumped slightly in her seat. “Oh.” Why hadn’t she looked at that file more closely? She internally berated herself. Clearly she had gotten a little, well, um… rusty with this parenting thing. Two huge missteps in about thirty seconds. This was not going well._

 

_“God, you haven’t been looking for my mother at all, have you?” Rusty was shouting now, looking at her accusingly._

 

_Sharon sighed. This was what she had signed up for… “Rusty,” she began earnestly, “I just got this job yesterday. Give me a chance to catch up.” Rusty rose from his seat, swinging his backpack over his shoulder again. Sharon spoke a little more quickly now, in a frantic attempt to keep him there with her. “I am making a good faith effort, I am.”_

 

_But she could see that Rusty wasn’t listening anymore. “Where’s your bathroom?” he asked, cutting her off._

 

_Sharon gestured back down the hall. “It’s right down there.” He immediately turned to hobble down the hall. Well, at least he wasn’t dashing out the front door, she thought. Though, to be fair, Rusty wouldn’t be running anywhere in a hurry for another week at least. She stood up, determined to make one last effort to get through to him. “Rusty.”He turned back towards her with obvious trepidation. “If it is possible to find your mother, I will do it, I promise you.”_

 

_“Sure you will, Captain.” Rusty’s voice betrayed the emotion he was feeling, nearly cracking, but leaving Sharon with no doubt that he didn’t really believe her. Sharon sighed a little at the use of her title. This wasn’t going well. At all. “Sure you will.”_

 

Sharon pulled herself out of the memory as the elevator doors opened and she made her way to her car. She shook her head and pulled out of the garage. She needed to put all this worry and sentimentality aside for a while, at least. She had exploding cars and unhelpful witnesses to deal with. 

 

***

 

She closed the electronics room door behind her and walked briskly over to join Buzz and Lieutenant Provenza in front of the monitors. “Well?” she asked, looking over their shoulders at the feed playing on the computer before them. 

 

“Well, he’s almost made it through his first day,” said the Lieutenant, glancing back at her briefly. 

 

Sharon adjusted her jacket unnecessarily as she watched, a nervous habit. “Almost,” she murmured, nodding. “Almost.” She tried to keep the worry out of her voice without much success. She had tried for most of the day to keep from dwelling on Rusty and the memories that had come to her that morning, but had failed quite spectacularly. Her mind kept going back to those early days, trying to understand how they had so suddenly found themselves here. 

 

That first night with Rusty had been terrible. Indeed, those first weeks had been by far their worst. Sarcastic, cutting remarks coupled with non-stop complaints and more than a few calls from St. Josephs; but she had kept at it, if only for those rare moments when he opened up to her, that flutter in her chest when he’d made her breakfast, the pride in her eyes when he’d stopped running and faced his fear. It had all been worth it for those tiny moments of joy. 

 

_But love?_ Sharon thought hard as she turned away from the monitor with an effort and headed back to her office to finish up the paperwork from this mess. _The understanding that he was a permanent fixture in her life?_ When had that happened? She’d told him fairly early on that he’d always have a home with her, she recalled. But if she was honest, she hadn’t really expected it to become a reality. She’d known she’d lost her objectivity when she’d patched him up after that man, that awful excuse for a human being had used him as a punching bag. But in those days she’d known that he needed a parent more than he needed a police Captain. So the loss of objectivity hadn’t bothered her. She’d happily traded it away. She’d called him family shortly after that. But no, even that wasn’t really the moment she knew he was hers. There had still been that voice in the back of her head, reminding her that he probably wouldn’t stay much longer. No, it was that day. That day when she had nearly lost him to Emma Rios and her enthusiastic objections to their living situation. 

 

_“You think I’m tough? Wait until the defense asks if you had a thing for older guys. Or how you ended up on the street. Or how it was you became a whore-phan.”_

 

_Sharon’s eyes snapped back to Emma in disbelief. Had she actually said that? In what world was it ever okay to attack a minor in that way? She opened her mouth a couple of times before any sound came out. “DDA Rios, we are stopping,” she said, her voice unusually loud in her anger and in order to be heard over the resultant din. “We are going to STOP.”_

 

_Emma Rios’s voice rose over the chaos, “Can I enquire why we are including officers in this interview?”_

 

_Provenza’s voice was raised now as well. “Rusty has the right to have his guardian present!”_

 

_Ms. Rios’s face snapped back to Sharon. She smelled blood, and Sharon could see her preparing for the kill._

 

_“Are—Are you saying my witness LIVES with you?!”_

 

_That was it, as far as Sharon was concerned. This woman was absolutely impossible, and there was no way she was going to subject Rusty to this sort of abuse. She looked over at Rusty and said soothingly, “Alright, Rusty, that’s enough for now.” She chose to ignore Rusty’s subsequent outburst, though in all honesty it seemed to Sharon that he had hit the nail on the head with the charge of “asshole.” But it wasn’t really helping anyone to voice that opinion._

 

_When the two women were left alone, Sharon began to speak again in a quiet and dangerous voice. “There’s nothing in either LAPD rules or policy that says Rusty can’t live with a police officer.” She looked up at Ms. Rios with a little glint of triumph in her eyes, praying that would be the end of it._

 

_It wasn’t._

 

_“Stroh’s lawyers will claim you coached the child.”_

 

_That was preposterous. Sharon smiled a little to herself. She was willing to bet that she knew and respected the rules better than the defiant young woman before her. The idea that she would do something to so blatantly break the rules was ridiculous. “I’ve never discussed the case with Rusty,” she continued in that same soft, measured voice, “even once.”She opened a file on her desk in the vain hope that Ms. Rios would take the hint that the conversation was over._

 

_She didn’t._

 

_Rios shook her head in disbelief. “No, you just put a roof over his head, fed him and gave him his clothes! Are you paying for the Catholic School that goes with that uniform? And were those keys to a vehicle that he just grabbed off your desk?”_

 

_Sharon smiled in disbelief. Was this woman for real? Didn’t she hear how petulant she sounded, screaming at Sharon as she calmly answered each of her concerns? “I keep a car, for when my kids visit, and Rusty takes it to school,” she said, her tone unconcerned as she continued to work on the file before her._

 

_“Oh, I apologize. You’re not coaching the witness, you’re BRIBING him! This has to change.” Emma pointed accusingly at Sharon. “But first, I need him to finish this interview.”_

 

_Sharon finally gave Rios her full attention, setting aside her work for the moment. “That’s not a good idea right now,” she said evenly._

 

_“Oh my God. Whatever happened to professional distance and good old foster care?” she asked venomously._

 

_Sharon watched her for a moment. She remembered what it was like to be that single-minded. To know what your objective was and pursue it rigorously without thinking of the inconvenience or harm it might inflict on the people around her, people she didn’t know and frankly didn’t care to know. When her job had been so black-and-white, and it didn’t matter if people liked her or not, so long as she got the job done. Honestly she missed those days. But if the last few years with Major Crimes (first observing and now leading them herself) had taught her anything, it was that the emotional depth that came from understanding the people around her was worth the headache and loss of focus. Hopefully Ms. Rios would come to a similar understanding much earlier in her career than Sharon had. And maybe Sharon could help her along by giving her just a taste of the emotions involved here. “That boy was selling himself on the streets to survive,” she began meaningfully. “which puts him at special risk—“_

 

_Emma interrupted her angrily, “Don’t talk to me about special risk—“_

 

_“Don’t interrupt me.” Sharon’s voice was dangerous now, all attempts to teach Emma Rios some greater lesson out the window. This woman clearly couldn’t take a hint. Sharon’s eyes burned into Rios’s. “It puts him at special risk for suicide.”_

 

_“Don’t talk to me about special risks when I’m prosecuting a serial killer.”_

 

_Sharon looked back at Rios with interest. It had been a long time since she’d met someone who didn’t cower in fear at that tone in her voice. This was going to be interesting, for sure._

 

_“I want that boy out of your house, and placed somewhere else, post-haste.”_

 

_Sharon looked back at her calmly. “That’s not gonna happen. And I suggest you factor my legal guardianship into your case.”_

 

But it wasn’t even that moment that Sharon had realized what a permanent fixture Rusty was in her life. It was almost immediately afterward, when it became apparent that she might lose him. 

 

_“But you have to testify in court.” She was watching Rusty as he rummaged in the kitchen, putting away his dishes. She desperately needed him to understand this point, but at the same time needed to keep his serial contrarian attitude at bay. Why were teenagers never rational?_

 

_“Why? Brenda was there that night. She can tell them what happened.”_

 

_Sharon gave him a look. He knew why. They’d been over this. “Chief Johnson was at her house,but she wasn’t at the park. You’re the only person who was in both places.” They’d had this discussion several times already. None of this was new information. And clearly it wasn’t helping. She took a different tact. “Okay, listen. We can’t discuss anything about your testimony,” she began carefully, “but you should be aware—“_

 

_Rusty made a quelling motion with his hands and made to flee the scene._

 

_“Rusty, you should be aware— Rusty, you—“_

 

_“I am completely aware,” Rusty replied forcefully, turning back to her. “Okay? I have waited my whole life to have friends. My whole life. And that Emma lady is about to take that away from me. Because that is what will happen when people find out what I was doing up at Griffith Park.”_

 

_Sharon immediately took hold of an issue she could do something about. “You won’t have to answer those questions,” she said clearly._

 

_Rusty shook his head, his panic coming through his words now. “She said that they would be asked!”_

 

_Sharon softened. She wished there were some way she could stop all this. But there wasn’t. It was out of her hands. And if he refused— Well, she didn’t want to think about losing him now. She nodded and guided Rusty over to the couch. “I know. But what you were doing in Griffith Park was illegal, so if the subject comes up, you can plead The Fifth.” She sat down in a chair across from the couch. Rusty just looked at her, non-plussed._

 

_“Plead the what?”_

 

_Sharon sighed in frustration. She knew she had a certain fascination with the rules that not everyone else shared, but really. Didn’t they teach the Constitution anymore? The very rules that govern American society? She shook her head. “Alright, the fifth amendment to the Constitution lets you refuse to say anything under oath that the State can then use to prosecute you.” She watched Rusty take this in. “That doesn’t mean you should keep any information fro—“_

 

_“Oh my God, you want me to talk to her again?!” Rusty’s interruption was panicked. “That is bullshit, Sharon!” She frowned a little at his language. He knew how she felt about words like that, but chose to overlook it for the moment. “I am the witness. Not the criminal. And that Emma is attacking me!”_

 

_Sharon watched him quietly for a moment. She wasn’t getting anywhere with this argument. And she was starting to panic a little herself, because it was imperative that he understand this. Not just because of the greater lesson here about standing up and doing the right thing, but because she would not, could not lose him to The System. Not after everything they had been through. Not when he was finally coming to trust her. If he went back into The System, Rusty would probably never trust anyone ever again and they’d lose him forever. Not to mention what it might do to her own morale._

 

_“Let me explain to you just how important you are to this process,” Sharon tried to keep the emotion out of her voice as she spoke. “A man who raped and killed five young girls could end up going free,” she continued, her words deliberate. “Unless you speak up.” She looked at him seriously. “Is that what you want to happen?”_

 

_Rusty’s voice rose indignantly again. “No. No, Sharon, of course I don’t want that to happen. But even if, even if I plead The Fifth, or whatever, people will find out about me. They will.”_

 

_Sharon looked at him sadly, wishing again there were some way she could stop all this. “And they will also find out,” she said tremulously with many pauses as she tried to keep her emotions under control and choose her words carefully, “that under very difficult circumstances and against your own best interests, Rusty Beck was the kind of person who was brave enough to do the right thing.” She smiled at him tearfully. “And whatever I can do to help you talk to Emma,” she said the last word in a tone that made it clear how she felt about this newest player in their life, “I promise you, I will do.”_

 

And somehow, miraculously, it had worked.

 

The endless fighting of those early days was long over at that point. They were used to each other, and she had finally gotten through. But really, the significance of that night hadn’t been about his testimony. It had been that sudden realization as she was faced with the very real possibility that they might actually take Rusty from her. That she _needed_ him. Maybe as much as he needed her. He was part of her life now. A permanent fixture that she knew she couldn’t part with. Back in those days, Rusty had been like that old work shirt she still had in her closet, the one that Beth and Ricky had tried to clean for her fifteen years ago, but had ruined instead. It wasn’t functional, and its only purpose seemed to be cluttering her closet, but she couldn’t get rid of it. She huffed in frustration when she came across it (because it had been such a lovely shirt), but always ended up giving it a small loving touch as she flicked through the hangers, smiling at the memory of her children’s sheepish looks when she had discovered the resultant stained and shrunken mess.

 

But the days when Sharon had thought of Rusty as a problematic but mostly good fixture in her home, the sort of thing that drove her crazy but she really liked having around and couldn’t bear to get rid of, those days had disappeared somewhere along the way. 

 

Sharon looked down at her desk. It was nearly time for Rusty to head home, and clearly she wasn’t getting any more work done today. She could take the paperwork home and work on it later, after she had concrete proof that Rusty was all right. She sighed. Gone were the days when she could leave her work in the office. They had vanished the moment she had lead that sullen young man, hobbling along on his crutches, into her home. 

 

She didn’t regret it for a moment.

 

“Sharon, don’t start.”

 

Sharon closed her mouth and just watched as Rusty walked into the apartment without so much as a hello and stomped over to the couch where he dropped his pack heavily on the table with a thump. 

 

“I know that Amy called you from the car and told you about what a massive screw up I am, so can we just, like, skip the lecture?” He looked over at her standing by the bar and crossed his arms defensively over his chest. “‘Cause I have already heard it from, like, ten people.” 

 

Sharon still didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Okay, yeah, maybe it was just from Amy,” Rusty conceded, “but she like, yelled at me for an hour in the car non-stop. Basically the same thing.” 

 

If Sharon hadn’t spent the entire day worrying about him, she might have laughed. Instead she just waited, watching him as he crashed down onto the couch with a huff. 

 

“Am I allowed to speak now?” she asked, when Rusty had remained silently fuming on the couch for about a minute. 

 

Rusty cut his eyes over to her, still obviously furious, but didn’t say anything. 

 

Sharon left her spot by the bar and smoothly came to perch on a chair in front of Rusty, her bare feet crossed before her. “So, how was your day?” She smiled faintly at him, both resisting the urge to smother him with her relief that he had made it through the day, and trying to open up a conversation wherein she could impress upon him the seriousness of his error and assure him that things would work out. 

 

He rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. “Seriously, Sharon?” He sat up abruptly and pulled his feet under his body, leaning towards her in a move of obvious frustration. “Um first, don’t even pretend like you weren’t watching me practically the entire day, okay? I know you were.”

 

Sharon leaned back in her seat, uncrossing her legs. “Actually, Rusty, I’m afraid you’ve rather overestimated my involvement today. I did have my own case to work, as you might recall.”

 

“Whatever,” Rusty scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. 

 

Sharon frowned. Sarcastic and frustrating as he might be, Rusty understood her all too well these days. Of course she had sneaked a glance at the feed from the park at every opportunity. She knew exactly how his day had gone from when he had eaten his lunch to how many bathroom breaks he had taken. And they both knew it.

 

“And second,” Rusty continued, “do you police like, ever tell the truth?” 

 

Sharon groaned inwardly. He really had latched onto that point from the first moment she’d met him. He just loved to throw that accusation in her face at every opportunity. Probably because he knew how much it bothered her. 

 

“Rusty,” she began lightly, “you know why we had to—“

 

Rusty’s head snapped up. “Wait. ‘we’?! You knew they were going to trick me like that?!” Rusty was shrieking now, his voice high-pitched with indignation. 

 

Sharon nodded serenely and leaned forward again, holding out a hand to calm him. “Of course I knew. I didn’t know exactly what they were going to do,” she relented, “but it’s policy to perform a field test in situations like this, particularly with young people and civilians.” She tilted her head at him curiously. “Did you really think they were going to do something like that without running it by me first? Or that I would permit them to put you out on the street without following the rules?” 

 

Rusty didn’t answer, just looked over at her sullenly. 

 

Finally, he said, “Okay, okay. But I still don’t see why you guys couldn't have, like, warned me that you were going to do something like that.”

 

Sharon quirked an eyebrow at him, a slightly amused expression on her face. 

 

Rusty sighed heavily. “Yeah, okay.” he rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans, looking away from her. “I know,” he said quietly. “You guys were just doing your jobs, and I really screwed up.” His eyes still refused to look at her. “It’s just…I was really scared.” He spoke to the floor. “And like, I dunno. I see you guys lie to everybody. All the time. And it just makes me feel like…like I can’t trust you guys.”  

 

Sharon crumpled in her seat. Of all the things he could have said. She extended a hand and gently brought it under his chin, slowly lifting his face back up to hers. “Rusty.” She spoke quietly and purposefully. “You can always trust me.” Her voice trembled a little with emotion, and she could feel her eyes misting up behind her glasses. It had been such a worry-filled day. “Whatever happens.” Sharon took a deep breath, dropping her hand from his chin. “Now,” she said more evenly, “if you’re going to go out there for real again, we’re going to have to make a deal.”

 

Rusty glanced up at her in surprise. “But I thought—“ he started quickly. 

 

“Hey,” Sharon said seriously, “if you don’t want to go out there again, that is totally fine. The FBI is coming up with an in-depth profile on this man, and we’ll catch up to him at some point.” She tried not to sound too hopeful as she said it, but the last thing she wanted was for Rusty to go out there if he didn’t want to anymore. 

 

“No-no-no!” Rusty cried out. “I want to!”

 

Sharon let out a breath of disappointment. So much for getting a good night’s sleep in the near future. She kept up a brave face for Rusty’s sake, but she was inwardly terrified. “Okay.” She looked at him intently. “Then you need to convince me that you won’t make the same mistakes again.” Rusty opened his mouth to speak, but Sharon silenced him with a look. “Uh-uh. You are listening now.” She pointed up at his hair. “That distress signal is not a joke. If you feel threatened, you use it. The same goes for your pepper spray.” She gestured at his bag on the table between them. “The plan is the same every day. There is absolutely no reason to deviate from it.” She gesticulated deliberately. “And don’t ever forget that answering a phone call from me is not optional.” She finally stopped, and Rusty groaned and rolled his eyes at her last words.

 

“Okay, okay, okay. I get it, Sharon. I will be a brainless drone. Just please, please, please let me do it.” 

 

Sharon kept her face impassive, steeling herself against the voices in her head that were screaming in protest. “Okay.” 

 

Rusty jumped up from his seat in excitement. “Yes, yes, yes! Thank you, Sharon! I promise I will, like, totally impress you all with my zombie imitation.” 

 

Sharon smiled faintly at his words, but only briefly. She still had that sick feeling in her stomach, the image of Rusty cold and lifeless in the street creeping into her thoughts again. This was ridiculous, she chided herself now. She had to pull herself together. 

 

She stood up now, saying something about freshening up, and closed herself into the bathroom. She turned and leaned over the sink, her hair swinging forward over her shoulders and into the sink. The question floated to the top of her mind yet again. When had this happened? When had he become more than just a semi-permanent grumpy feature of her life? When had he become more than that silly ruined shirt in the back of her closet? When had she traded in that parasitic relationship for a mutually beneficial one? When had it become, well, love?

 

_September in LA was strange. It always felt like the temperature couldn’t settle, the occasional cool breeze ripping through the dry heat, leaving everyone surprised in its wake. Even after thirty years in the area, Sharon couldn’t get used to it. She always felt so unsettled at this time of year. It was just odd._

 

_Sharon glanced over at Rusty sitting in the passenger seat beside her. Well, not sitting. He was sulking, in the way that only an unhappy teenager could. Somehow his wordless attitude was deafening in the thick silence of the car._

 

_“You want to talk about it, Rusty?” She tried to ask it in the most neutral way possible._

 

_Rusty turned away from her to look deliberately out the window, shutting her out._

 

_Sharon rolled her eyes and exhaled heavily out of the corner of her mouth. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Well how about you just listen for a little while?” More silence. She pulled up to a traffic light and drew the car to a stop. She turned to look at Rusty more fully while they waited. “I know that you are feeling a little…” she paused, searching for an innocuous phrase. “Well, constrained,” she finished.Rusty continued to look determinedly out the window. “But you need to understand—“_

 

_“It’s green, Sharon.” Rusty’s voice was flat and annoyed._

 

_Sharon held back her usual diatribe about interrupting and turned back to face the front, continuing through the traffic light. “Rusty,” she started again, “this—this situation is far from ideal. I know that.” She turned into the parking garage and pulled into her usual spot, next to the now-unused Volvo. She pulled the keys out of the ignition and turned towards him again in her seat. “But I need you to remember that I am trying to keep you safe. We all are.” Rusty’s hand reached across his lap to unfasten his seatbelt, still avoiding Sharon’s eyes. He pushed open the car door and started to get out. Sharon followed suit, clenching her teeth over the angry words threatening to fly at Rusty and his infuriating attitude. She walked quickly to keep pace with him as he made a beeline for the door to the lobby. “Your safety is my primary objective.” She held the door into the building open for him and waited as he walked through first. The door closed behind him and Rusty immediately proceeded to the elevator, pushing the button before she had completely caught up with him again. “I know that it’s annoying,” she continued in what she hoped was an impassive tone. The elevator dinged and the doors drew open; the two stepped through together. Again, Rusty pressed the appropriate button, and the doors closed again. “But you need to remember that this is not forever.” Rusty looked down at his feet as the elevator rose. Sharon suppressed an exasperated sigh. “I’m sure it must feel restricting, and it’s upsetting to have so little freedom, but I wouldn’t insist upon it unless it was absolutely necessary.” The elevator stopped and the doors opened again.They both made their way down the hall toward the apartment, Rusty still effectively ignoring her. Sharon unlocked the door when they reached it and swept him before her._

 

_She pulled the door closed behind her, a little harder than necessary in her frustration. “Okay, this isn’t going to work for me.” She dropped the neutral tone now, snapping a little. “This passive-aggressive silent treatment is not a game I’m going to play—uh-uh. Stop right there.” Rusty was now creeping down the hall towards his room in an obvious attempt to escape her. She dropped her bag and keys heavily on the side table in front of her, removing her coat and shoes at the same time. She turned back to face him in the hall now. “Not one more step.” She was usually so good at keeping calm during arguments. She liked it better that way. There was a power in maintaining a quiet anger. A form of control that soothed her. But her current frustration combined with the day she’d had had rendered her incapable of her usual collected tone._

 

_Rusty finally turned around. “God, Sharon,” he seethed, “can’t you take a hint?” He strode back down the hall towards her. “I. Don’t. Want. To talk.” He paused between each word for emphasis. To Sharon’s disbelief, he turned back towards his bedroom as if the matter was now closed._

 

_“One more step, young man, and you can kiss your phone and laptop goodbye,” she said sharply. Rusty froze. That had gotten his attention, Sharon thought with satisfaction. “Now you can come out here and talk to me like a civilized human being, or you can hand over your laptop and computer right now. It’s your choice.”_

 

_“Like anything is ever really a choice with you,” Sharon heard him mutter from his place in the hall. She smiled a little to herself. He was catching on. She turned and walked barefoot towards the kitchen. She heard Rusty following close behind._

 

_“Okay,” Sharon said a little more calmly once she reached the kitchen. She spun back towards him and pointed forcefully at the bar. “Sit.” He rolled his eyes, but complied. She pulled open the refrigerator door and pulled out the remnants of last night’s salad and some left over grilled chicken from earlier in the week. She set everything down on the counter and reached up into the cabinet for a couple of plates. “I need you to know that what happened today can’t happen again.” She watched him carefully over the top of her glasses. He still had an overly-dramatic air of frustration that bordered on histrionic, but at least he wasn’t avoiding her eyes anymore._

 

_“Seriously, Sharon?” His tone was exasperated. “I just went to play chess in the park. It was not a big deal.”_

 

_Sharon turned away from him to put the chicken in the microwave, sighing. He still did not get it. “Rusty, there is someone out there who wants to kill you.” She divided the salad between their plates as she spoke. “Do you understand that?” The microwave dinged, and she removed the chicken._

 

_She heard him exhale heavily behind her as she placed a piece of chicken on each plate with a fork. “Yes, Sharon. Of course I understand that. I mean, I hid all those letters for a reason. Duh.”_

 

_Sharon spun toward him. “Not funny.” She pointed forcefully at him with the fork in her hand. “Now set the table.”_

 

_He rolled his eyes at her again, but slipped off his chair and began moving around the table, putting down napkins and placemats. “I was totally fine, Sharon. And I was fine for months before this when you guys didn’t know about the letters. What was going to happen?” He turned back to the bar and picked up the plates that Sharon had just placed there, transferring them to the table. “There were people all around. Literally. What was this guy going to do? Just walk up to me, stab me, then politely apologize to everyone around for getting blood on their shoes?”_

 

_Sharon’s eyes snapped back to him from where she was pouring water into glasses. What was with him and the dark humor tonight? Didn’t he understand how extremely not funny those sorts of jokes were? Of course he didn’t, she reminded herself. That was the point. He didn’t understand how serious all this was._

 

_Rusty caught a glimpse of the daggers flying from Sharon’s eyes and grimaced, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I know. Not funny. But still. I just don’t get why your goons have to hang around all the time.” He sat down at the table now, waiting for her._

 

_“Because,” she sighed as she brought their glasses to the table and sat across from him, “the security detail is a non-negotiable stipulation of the deal I made with Chief Taylor and the DA’s office to keep you out of witness protection.” They had been over this at least five times before._

 

_“I don’t need a babysitter, Sharon. I can take care of myself.”_

 

_Sharon considered her plate in silence for a few moments, keeping her response to herself._ **_But you don’t have to anymore._ ** _She picked at her food unhappily. Clearly this approach was not going to make him understand. But he had to understand. She sighed, setting down her fork and looking over at him again. “Alright, Rusty. I understand that you think you’re fine and I do know that you can take care of yourself.” She spoke in that low, soft voice that she usually reserved for emotional conversations. “But I want you to consider for a moment what it was like for all of us up at the station today when your security detail came to my office and informed me that they’d lost you.”_

 

_Rusty looked up at her in surprise. Clearly that aspect of his little escapade hadn’t occurred to him. Sharon could see his mind processing the implications of what she’d said, could see the cogs turning behind his eyes, and knew that this had been the right button to push. For a remarkably self-involved and oblivious teenager, Rusty was remarkably selfless. It was one of the qualities that so endeared him to her. The idea that his actions might have negatively affected everyone else might be just the thing to get him to take all of this seriously. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sharon shook her head slightly and he closed it._

 

_“I had every uniformed officer out there today looking for you,” she continued, still in that unflappable tone. “My entire division dropped everything to insure your safety. And I—“ her voice cracked on the last word, the emotions of the day finally catching up with her. She abruptly stood up from the table and turned away from him to the kitchen, her right hand rising to her forehead in that telltale sign of the tears threatening to fall. The memory of the crippling fear that had gripped her all afternoon came back in full force. Sharon bent over the counter, still with her back to Rusty, and took a deep breath. “I didn’t know where you were, Rusty.” Her voicestill shook slightly with emotion._

 

_A chair scraped behind her, and she heard Rusty get to his feet, shifting uncomfortably behind her. Sharon blinked softly and a single tear began to slide down her cheek. Her hand automatically came up to wipe it away before it fell._

 

_“Sharon… God… I-I’m sorry.”Rusty’s words were uncertain behind her. Still not looking at him, she could sense his hand hovering tentatively in the air over her shoulder. She took another deep breath and wiped quickly at her eyes beneath her glasses before finally turning back to Rusty._

 

_“I just need you to stay safe.” She brought a hand up to touch his face briefly, and he let it rest there for a split second before he pulled away and looked at his feet in seeming embarrassment._

 

_“I know.” He spoke to the floor, quietly. “I won’t do it again, Sharon, I promise.”_

 

_She nodded and smiled a little tightly through the tears still glistening in her eyes._

 

But he hadn’t kept his promise, Sharon thought to herself now. 

 

The fear that had boiled in her stomach that day had now taken up residence in her insides.It was fear different than the occasional nervousness that visited her at a crime scene or when she herself was in danger. This was a fear that took hold of her very being and squeezed until she could no longer breathe. It was the tell-tale sign of her love, of her unwillingness to let him go. Of his constancy in her life, and the realization of what her fear during those few hours that Rusty had been missing actually meant: that he was permanent. 

 

***

 

She still smelled of gunpowder. It was a mist that lingered around her, seeping into her surroundings indiscriminately. 

 

Sharon was standing alone in the elevator, wedged into the corner with her back to the walls. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her torso. She took pleasure in the constriction; she felt protected somehow, more in control. 

 

_“He lives in your building! Apartment 321.”_

 

_Cold. A soul-crushing cold rushing everywhere. Gun. Yes. She needed her gun._

 

_“Andy, call SIS. Do it now!”_

 

_Stairs. Something cutting into her feet. Where were her shoes? Why wasn’t she wearing them?_

 

_A hard, copper taste in her mouth._

 

_5th floor, 4th floor—_

 

The elevator doors slowly opened. She looked up and remembered to move just before they closed again. She walked slowly, toward the bustle of uniformed officers clustered at the end of the hall. They parted when she reached them, finally revealing her apartment door. She nodded in thanks to the officers and walked through the door. 

 

_A deserted hallway. 321. There. But how?…_

 

_A high-pitched shrieking. The fire extinguisher heavy in her hands. Her back ached with the impact._

 

_“LAPD!”_

 

_Rusty’s strangled cry for help. Her body shuddered as she brought the fire extinguisher against the door yet again, then she was through—_

 

Two more officers waited inside the apartment, their full attention focused on the security of the shaken young man between them. It was a relief. She mouthed her thanks to them and proceeded slowly toward Rusty, slightly turned away from her. He turned towards her as she approached. 

 

“Hey.” His greeting was hoarse, quiet. Residual terror still showed in his eyes as he looked at her. 

 

“Hey.” Sharon’s voice was quiet, soothing. She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly when she reached him. “You okay?” She sat on the couch across from him as he answered. 

 

“Just a little shaky. But never happier to have so many police officers around me.” 

 

Sharon watched him sadly. She had so urgently wanted him to take his safety more seriously, but she had never wanted it to happen like this.

 

_“Sharon! Sharon, he’s in there! Sharon, he went in there!”_

 

_The gun, cold in her hand._

 

_The pungent smell of bleach everywhere._

 

_The hard floor beneath her still-bare feet._

 

_Fear in her heart, suffocating fear, suddenly replaced by a cold and calculating rage—_

 

Sharon hadn’t meant for it to happen this way. She would have given anything to have her obstinate, oblivious teenager back. The terror still in his eyes that came with his disillusionment haunted her. It wasn’t worth it. He had lost something today. This day had taken something from him; stolen it like the faceless men that she knew still haunted his nightmares. And she wanted desperately to get it back for him. But they both knew it was gone. 

 

“Rusty, I owe you an apology,” she began quietly, watching him steadily. “I went against my instincts, I never should have—“ She could hear Rusty trying to speak over her in protest, but continued,”—gone along with this entire operation—“

 

“Sharon, let me finish, please?” 

 

She stopped and gave him a subtle nod to continue. 

 

“I thought I had a handle on all this stuff,” Rusty began. “But I didn’t follow my orders,” his voice began to crack, “and I almost got myself killed—“ tears were falling now as his voice shook violently.

 

_Shots._

 

_One, two, three._

 

_Her finger reacted on the trigger immediately, her body moving into position without thought._

 

_Through another door. A bed, a TV, a chair. Where did he go?_

 

_She was at the window, the gun still steady in her hand._

 

_Lieutenant Cooper’s shouts echoed behind her, and she shouted, “I see him! I see him!”_

 

_But he was gone._

 

“—And-and-and from now on, whatever you want me to do, whatever it is, that I need to do Sharon, I promise you that I’ll do it. I’ll just do it. Because…” 

 

Words suddenly seemed to fail Rusty. He fidgeted awkwardly for a moment, and Sharon looked at him questioningly, trying to decide what it was he needed. There was always such a fine line between helping him regain control over his own personal space and giving him the aid and comfort he needed; she always had to be careful with Rusty in emotional situations like these. But before she’d had time to even consider what she should do, Rusty had launched himself out of his chair, reaching for her, and she had automatically risen to meet him. His arms came around her and held her tight. Sharon could feel his desperation in that moment; the way his hands clutched at her back and shoulders, seemingly afraid she might disappear. She could sense that Rusty was holding on to her for dear life. This was a hug unlike any they had shared before. It was not awkward or perfunctory, as though he was allowing her to touch him. It wasn’t akin to the sorts of reassuring squeezes she had often given him, or the feather-light guiding hand between his shoulder blades. No. This touch was raw, unyielding, anguished, and he didn’t pull away. It was unexpected, and even more rarely, completely initiated by Rusty himself. 

 

Sharon closed her eyes for a moment, restraining the storm of emotions behind her eyes. Relief that he was alright. Fear at what was to come. Bitter disappointment at her own failings when it came to his safety. Trepidation at the thought of their next move. Sorrow for that part of his dwindling child-like outlook that he had lost today. Surprise at his display of affection and newfound ability to reach out. The conflicting emotions were at war in her mind, and she could feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

 

“You saved me. Again.” Rusty’s words were muffled slightly in her hair, and Sharon opened her eyes. She pulled away from him gently so she could look him in the eyes as she breached this next topic reluctantly. 

 

“But it’s not over yet.” She brought her hands briefly up to his face to make sure she had his attention, a gesture of comfort for herself and Rusty as well. “Unfortunately the guy who tried to kill you is still out there,” she continued steadily. 

 

“I know,” Rusty whispered tearfully, an anxious look on his face now.

 

“And I am happy that you promised to do what I say,” she said deliberately. “And that you know that it is for your own good.” She continued to regard him unwaveringly for a moment as he processed what she had said. 

 

Confusion flitted across Rusty’s face and he began to splutter in uncertainty. 

 

Sharon finally looked away and began to walk back to his room. “Come on,” she said softly, ignoring his continued confused questions. Her hand came up to her forehead in an obvious signal of tearful distress. Still ignoring his increasingly alarmed queries, she continued down the hall. She didn’t trust herself to say anything more without shedding tears. And tears were the last thing Rusty needed from her. They had reached his bedroom now, where she just looked at him sadly and began packing his bag. He had to know that this was not a rejection. That it wasn’t forever. 

 

The minutes passed in a blur as Lieutenant Provenza and Julio arrived, filling in the blanks that Sharon didn’t trust herself to say aloud. There was a flurry of activity in the room now as everyone hurried to gather Rusty’s things. Soon they were nearly to the front door again. She held out his suitcase to him wordlessly as Provenza chatted amiably in an obvious and completely unsuccessful attempt to lighten the mood. Rusty reached for it, his hand over hers for a split second, her eyes boring into his. Then her hand dropped, and he began to move away. At the last moment, Sharon reached out and caught his shoulder, pulling him back toward her swiftly, her cheek against the side of his head, one arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders. There was a whispered “See you soon,” and, even more quietly, “I love you.” And then they were gone. 

 

Sharon snapped the door smartly closed behind them, then turned back to the empty apartment and finally let the tears fall.

 

***

 

His breathing was low, steady, relaxed. Sharon smiled slightly at his sleeping form, sprawled across the bed. And Rusty slept. Like he hadn’t slept in a long time, Sharon suspected. And she just stood there in the doorway, watching quietly as his back rose and fell in time with his breathing. It was calming, she realized, to see him sleeping so blissfully back where he belonged. It was nearly all she could do, however, to keep herself from sitting on the bed with him and smoothing his hair or rubbing his back. But she refrained, continuing to watch him quietly, wondering to herself how they had arrived here. When had she exchanged that sullen and tight-lipped witness for the warm and caring young man now before her? Where had the Rusty who had confided in her just a few hours ago in her office come from?

 

_Rusty finally turned to look at her, his eyes shining with tears and his chin quivering slightly as he spoke. “Look—thank you, for everything that you’ve done for me, but I—I don’t think I should live with you anymore.”_

 

_Sharon’s reassuring smile faltered for a moment. She struggled to keep her face impassive and her tone light as she asked, “why?”_

 

_She could sense that something was bothering him on a very deep level, but she kept herself from pushing, trying to give him as much control over the conversation as she could conceivably cede, the way she always did. But his expression worried her. She couldn’t read it. And a part of her, the selfish part that she usually kept so well confined, was a little hurt at the thought that he didn’t want to live with her._

 

_“Because I don’t think you’ll want me there.”_

 

_Sharon’s heart sank straight to the floor at Rusty’s words. “Rusty, why on earth would you say that?” Her voice was barely above a whisper now, and she wasn’t sure she’d kept the hurt out of her tone. What could she possibly have done to make him think that she didn’t want him? But immediately, Sharon stalled that thought. If her experience with the young man before her counted for anything, this was not about her. It so rarely ever was._

 

_I played chess with that Wade guy,” Rusty started, looking out at the murder board again. “And in some ways—not-not the illegal ways, not the violent ways, but in other ways, ways that I can’t fix, I am just like him.”_

 

_Sharon immediately cut in. “No, no, no, no.” It was imperative that Rusty understand this. Of course she had seen the similarities between Rusty and Wade Weller; in many ways it felt like the same song, different verse. Except that they were so vastly different. Rusty was kind, and cautious, and gentle. He would walk ten feet out of his way to avoid even seeing her gun in the apartment. He would make her breakfast after a late night. The sad fact was that Rusty’s and Wade’s stories were all too common, and not at all remarkable in their similarities. “You are not like Wade Weller.”_

 

_“Yes I am, Sharon,” Rusty argued. “I am just like him. I am exactly like him. And I am like…I am just like Dr. Morales, and maybe Dr. Joe, and all those guys who picked me up on the street.”_

 

_Oh._ **_Oh._ ** _Sharon relaxed slightly at the realization that he was talking about_ **_that_ ** _. But only slightly, because clearly it was upsetting to Rusty. She quickly reminded herself that his fear of rejection and abandonment were deep seated, and not at all a reflection of his feelings towards her or an assumption based on reasoned fact. But it still deeply saddened her to think that his default expectation would be rejection._

 

_“And I can’t_ **_fix it_ ** _, Sharon. I can’t fix it.” He moved closer, nearly sobbing now, and practically collapsed on her shoulder in an embrace. “I am just like them, Sharon. I am just like them.”_

 

_Sharon felt her mouth open slightly in surprise. She slowly brought her arms up around Rusty’s back and swayed a little, rubbing calming circles with her hands. This hug felt different than their earlier breakthrough. This was a hug of utter desperation. Not seeking reassurance after a near miss or a wordless sign of support before he dived into a fraught family situation about which he was still clueless. This was the sort of touch that begged her for forgiveness, implored her not to abandon him, pleaded for acceptance. Sharon’s heart ached as she sensed the desperation in his touch, as her neck and shoulder became slippery and sticky with his tears, as she considered how far they had come._

 

_“Rusty, what you are,” she said soothingly into his ear still pressed against her cheek, “is who I love.” She felt her own tears welling up in her eyes now. But this time she made no attempt to suppress or hide them. “And_ **_all_ ** _of you is coming home.”She smiled tearfully into his shoulder._

 

_They stood there for a few minutes, swaying slightly on the spot. Finally Sharon pulled away and they just looked at each other for a long moment. Tear-streaked faces and all. It was amazing, Sharon thought, how they were able to have almost an entire conversation without words now. Words of assurance, a query about their departure, an understanding nod. All contained within one look._

 

_Finally she tore her eyes away from him and wiped her face delicately with one hand. She walked over to her desk and picked up her bag without a word, Rusty opening the door for them as they exited._

 

Sharon smiled a little to herself, still watching Rusty sleep quietly. He let out a deep breath and his hair ruffled slightly over his face. Sharon clapped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from giggling too loudly, finally withdrawing from the room and closing the door softly behind her.She walked out into the living room, turning off the lights and preparing for bed herself. 

 

She looked around the apartment as she went, her eyes lingering on the small signs of Rusty’s presence in her life. The chessboard lying haphazard on the table. A lone shoe almost hiding under the couch. A DVD or two sticking out slightly from the rest. A newly framed photo of the two of them she’d just had made this week, smiling at her from the desk. 

 

It didn’t really matter when it had happened, Sharon realized suddenly. It didn’t matter how it had happened. It didn’t even matter why it had happened. Somewhere she had traded in her professional distance and the general understanding that Rusty was just another part of the job,for love. At some point, she had exchanged her objectivity for irrational worry and the validation of a smile. But how, when, never truly mattered. All that really mattered was that they had made it here, now. That without a doubt, this was permanent. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> And we’ll just leave it there. I felt a little guilty about all the angst and tears and fighting in this one, so I hope that tiny taste of fluff at the end brought you all back down off of the ledge. Thanks to everyone for all the reviews and words of encouragement on these stories.


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